


Headhunting

by china_shop



Category: Captain America (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Community: intoabar, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He smiled and raised his eyebrows, silently inviting her to relax and make small talk. Gestured to the rest of the bar with his bottle. "Why do I get the feeling this is not your scene?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Because you have eyes," said Sara. "Who are you?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headhunting

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to mergatrude and PrincessofGeeks for beta. <3
> 
> For intoabar2015.

The log-cabin bar was decorated with so much rough-cut timber, Sara got splinters just walking through the door, and it smelled of pine needles and beer. A cluster of cowboy-hatted Corona-drinkers by the bar serenaded each other with snatches of country songs, even though Sara identified most of the faces under the hats as guests at the resort down the road, which meant they were city slickers like her, lured by the advertisement that had encouraged them to _Switch off your phone, fill your lungs with clean, country air, and take a few days to re-evaluate your life path in a breath-taking, natural environment._

There was a lot of natural environment at the resort, and Sara had discovered that while she liked the great outdoors as much as the next person, she'd rather be admiring it through a window while wearing a cocktail dress and Manolo Blahniks and holding a Vera Wang champagne flute. But she was here now, and she had to blend if she wanted to succeed in her quest.

She ordered a Goose Island Stout and retreated to a booth by the door, where she sat and sized up patrons as they came in, covertly assessing the locals and discounting those obviously staying at the resort, refusing to make eye contact with any of them because the last thing she needed was to be fending off pick-ups. She barely noticed the lean, good-looking guy in the scarred leather jacket until he sat down across from her. He was wearing an old Washington Wizards sweatshirt. "Hi, mind if I sit? The name's Sam."

He had warm, dark eyes and a killer smile, and she didn't think he was hitting on her, but just his presence was a distraction when she was on edge and needed to focus. "Sorry, I'm not really in the mood for—"

A quartet of locals pushed through the door in a gust of cold air and friendly laughter, and Sara broke off to evaluate them. The first woman was in her forties, too old, but the second woman's face was obscured by the two men. Sara held her breath. It could be. Then the woman stepped forward so her partner could help her out of her sheepskin jacket, and Sara felt the familiar face-slap of disappointment. The odds were a million to one anyway. What was she even doing here?

"—company," she finished lamely.

"Sara Ellis, right?" Sam sprawled in her peripheral vision. 

She froze and turned her attention back to him. Sized him up properly. "Sam—?"

"Wilson." He clinked his beer bottle against her glass in greeting and took a healthy gulp. His manner was deceptive; under the casual surface, everything about him was coiled and ready to spring into action, and his gaze was like a hawk's. But she didn't think he was threatening her. She trusted the steadiness of those eyes. He smiled and raised his eyebrows, silently inviting her to relax and make small talk. Gestured to the rest of the bar with his bottle. "Why do I get the feeling this is not your scene?"

"Because you have eyes," said Sara. "Who are you?"

"Told you, the name's Sam."

Sara resisted digging her baton out of her purse and clenched her beer glass instead. "That's so forthcoming of you, thanks."

"Well, ask a different question then." He waved to a waiter, who was standing by the bar with a bowl of fries and who brought them over in response to his beckoning. "Like, maybe, why are you here? What are you looking for, Sara?"

"Maybe I'm here to make a connection," she said, annoyed. Strangers playing games with her was all she needed, and her real mission was none of his business.

But he grinned again. "Nah, if you were here to hook up, you'd be nicer to me. I mean, right?"

Sara tried to keep glaring, but she couldn't help a reluctant laugh at that. His self-confidence was actually pretty charming—it reminded her of Caffrey. She switched tactics and favored him with a flirtatious look. "Are you looking for company, Sam?"

"I'm here to recruit you," he said. "The team I'm with, we can always use a good retrievals expert who can handle herself."

Sara shook her head, still smiling. "Well, I already have a job, so—"

"So did I, believe me." Sam took another mouthful of beer. And waited. 

It felt like a test, and Sara was equal parts irked and intrigued now. Being head-hunted was flattering, and no one had tried to recruit her in a bar in Montana before. Of course, she'd never _been_ in a bar in Montana before, and there was a fair chance he was spinning her a line. "What exactly does this job entail?"

"Oh, you know, saving the world." He gestured lazily with one hand. "It's a good team. With a little training and some quality tech, you'd fit right in. Or you could waste the rest of your life working insurance."

The slight to her profession stung, but she kept her smile firmly in place. "You don't even know me."

"We've got someone who can vouch for you. Someone who's been following your career for a long time." Sam took a photo out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. "She laid the trail that led you here."

Sara looked down at the face of the one person she'd been searching for, her whole life. Unmistakable, even after all this time. The reason she was in this backwater. Her eyes stung, but she'd spent enough time around con artists to know that heartstring-tugs were reason for suspicion. "This is a trick."

"No trick." Sam leaned forward, serious now. Sympathetic, as if he could possibly know how much of a shock this was. "I know, it's a big deal. Take a moment."

The crooners at the bar were singing the chorus of "Jolene", the sound so far away they might have been coming from another galaxy.

Sara swallowed past the lump in her throat and gestured at the photo. "Who am I looking at?"

"Commander Maria Hill, AKA Emily Ellis," said Sam softly. "Your big sister."

"Emily ran away when I was thirteen."

"She didn't run away; she was recruited. After what happened to your parents, there was no stopping her." 

Sara went cold. "My parents died in a car accident."

"Car accident is the PG-13 rated version." Sam lowered his voice. "You want the whole truth, you need to talk to your sister."

Sara stared at the photo, the strong, capable, implacable expression. Commander Hill. Wearing a uniform, her hair pulled back severely, but she was the only family Sara had. 

It could still be a trap; her instincts told her it wasn't. Emily had finally decided to make contact. "I guess she didn't become a ballerina after all. Why didn't she come here and meet me herself?"

Sam's mouth quirked up. "Turns out no one else on the team is equipped to handle an emotionally charged situation like this without being wildly insensitive or—" He coughed. "—a safety hazard."

"Sounds like a party." Sara grabbed her coat and purse, surreptitiously checking for her baton. There was no turning back now, but she wanted to be prepared for whatever came next. "Let's go. I can leave my car at the resort."

Sam held up a finger while he guzzled the last of his beer, then set the bottle on the table. "Leave it here. We'll send someone to collect it later. Tonight we're traveling by private jet." 

Sara snorted. Apparently Sam was under the impression they were in a Bond movie, but it was hard to credit him in that faded sweatshirt. "You have a private jet."

"Don't be too impressed—it's on loan." He winked. "Your sister's waiting in the cockpit." He grabbed a couple of fries for the road and stood up.

Sara followed. "So, tell me, who do we save the world from?" she asked over her shoulder as she pushed through the door ahead of him. Everyone was a crusader, these days. Maybe Emily had become an eco-activist.

"Whoever threatens it: Nazis, aliens, trickster gods—"

Sara stopped dead in her tracks, blocking the doorway so he walked right into her. "You're _that_ Sam Wilson?" she squawked. 

Well, that explained the jet.

 

END


End file.
